


Home Fires Burning

by butterflymind



Category: Rusty Quill Gaming (Podcast)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-29
Updated: 2020-04-29
Packaged: 2021-03-01 19:02:24
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,681
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23902027
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/butterflymind/pseuds/butterflymind
Summary: It was a dark and stormy night when the goblin found the inn on the island.
Relationships: Grizzop drik Acht Amsterdam & Oscar Wilde
Comments: 2
Kudos: 28
Collections: Rusty Quill Gaming Exchange 2020





	Home Fires Burning

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Nemainofthewater](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nemainofthewater/gifts).



> Canon divergence for obvious reasons. In this universe, Grizzop and Eldarion failed to reach Rome.

The rain in Spain may have stayed mainly on the plain, but the rain in Japan apparently stayed exclusively above Grizzop’s head.

That wasn’t fair, he thought a second later. The rain was not targeting him personally, but generally falling on everyone and everything for every second since Grizzop had arrived on this accursed island. He was so wet it no longer seemed to matter, and so cold he had stopped shivering some time ago. The rain in the day was warm, but now night had truly fallen it was becoming colder by the second. Grizzop pursed his lips, bent his ears back, and carried on grimly, looking for his target. He must be close he knew, but even though the cold was no longer bothering him it was getting increasingly difficult to think, let alone do so while also convincing his uncooperative legs to carry him through this mire that might once have been a forest. He was so tired, becoming more sleepy by the second. The one advantage seemed to be that he no longer cared how wet he was, but it was only sheer bloody mindedness that stopped him sleeping where he stood. He should by rights have found the inn hours ago, but the instructions he had received were vague at best. He had made his way through the port on the mainland by finding those who spoke faltering Dutch or English, but by the time he had found someone willing to take him to the island he had been reduced to mime and the occasional word of Japanese he had learnt from the sailors on his way across the ocean. He could have travelled from Damascus in seconds by teleport, or plane walking, but Grizzop did not trust that sort of transport these days. 

When he saw it, he assumed at first that his tired eyes were playing tricks on him. He almost passed right by, his brain so concentrated on placing one foot in front of the other and reluctant to make the supreme effort it would take to change direction. But he made himself backtrack, look again through the trees, blink hard twice to make sure this wasn’t just his eyes playing terrible tricks on him. But no, there was a building, no more than a shadow in the ceaseless rain, but with weak light spilling from two windows, where the shutters didn’t quite meet. He cut straight through the undergrowth towards it, stealth and grace erased by the rain and his leaden limbs. He did still retain enough sense to check the door post for the marks he had been assured would be there, before he knocked on the door hard, but with less desperation than he felt. The answer was a long time coming, and before it there was a great deal of shuffling and drawing back of bolts on the other side of the door.

“Who is it?” Came a voice.

“Grizzop.” Grizzop replied. “Open the door Wilde.” He was expecting to have to answer several more questions but to his pointed disappointment, Wilde opened the door. He was wearing a silk dressing gown and matching slippers, and since the last time Grizzop had seen him his hair had grown back in, although it was still short and more uneven than Wilde was probably happy with.

“You’re soaked.” Wilde said, staring at him.

“That will be the rain. Can I come in?” To his even greater disappointment Wilde stood aside and let him pass into the room. It was a bar, or at least it probably was when there were people in it. At the moment it was just a room of mats and tables, with a rough hewn flagstone floor still bearing the last traces of the straw that had presumably once covered it. Grizzop stood still, assessing the territory and dripping onto the floor. “How do you know you are who you say you are?” He asked. Wilde gave him a genial smile.

“How do I know you are?” He asked. He was standing in front of Grizzop, looking as relaxed and insouciant as he always did. Annoyance flared in Grizzop.

“I could have killed you by now if I weren’t.”

“Did you want a doorstep interrogation?” Wilde asked. “I just don’t think incipient war is an excuse to be inhospitable.” Grizzop shook his head.

“Right, what was the last thing we did in Damascus?”

“You had me locked up in the temple of Artemis, which I imagine was fulfilling a lifetime ambition.”

“You’re not important enough to feature in my lifetime ambitions Wilde.” Oscar mimed being shot through the heart.

“You wound me.”

“Where was I going?” Grizzop ground out. If this wasn’t Wilde, whoever was doing an impression of him had got his personality down to an infuriating T.

“You were going to Rome, to join the rest of your party.” For the first time Oscar’s expression softened slightly. “I heard it didn’t work.”

“No. It didn’t.” Grizzop closed his eyes for just a moment. The despair was still so fresh after several weeks of ocean voyage. It entwined with the tiredness of his entire body, and entreated him to just lie down where he stood. Instead, he snapped his eyes open again, stubborn to the last. “Right, well that’s the best I can do. Now you ask me some questions.”

“Why would I do that?”

“To check I am who I say I am.” Wilde sighed.

“Oh very well.” He thought for a moment. “Why did you lock me in a cell?”

“For your protection. Someone was attacking you, magically.”

“And what did you do before that?”

“We put you in anti-magic shackles.”

“And before that?”

“We examined you for any signs of an illness, or parasite, that might have been causing your sleeping problem.”

“And how did you do that?” Grizzop gritted his teeth.

“We shaved your head. And stripped you naked.”

“And was that fun?” Grizzop flushed to the tips of his ears, and it took him an embarrassed second to realise that the last question hadn’t come from Wilde. Instead it had been said softly into his ear from directly behind him. He spun round, already reaching for a weapon, and found Oscar Wilde again. He was dressed similarly to his double, but there was a recently healed scar across his face, still pink. When he smiled, his mouth was lopsided. Grizzop twisted between the two of them, and as he watched the one he had been talking to grew insubstantial, fading into nothing.

“Well, you didn’t think I’d answer the door myself did you?” Said the real Wilde, still smiling at him. Grizzop clenched his fists at his sides for a second, willing his adrenaline to drop.

“I thought it was a bit stupid, even for you.” He conceded.

“Such confidence.” Wilde looked at him critically. “Well you seem to be you. If wetter than I remember. You must be very cold.”

“Not really.” Grizzop said, offhand. That made Wilde’s eyebrows shoot up, and he moved forward to touch Grizzop’s skin.

“Stay there.” He said after the lightest brush, and then walked out of the room. Grizzop did what he was told, albeit unintentionally. He felt an urge to sit down on one of the soft reed mats, but an instinct told him that it would be a bad idea. Instead he stood still, vaguely convinced there was something he should be doing, but unable to quite work out what.

“They’re quite drippy your ears, aren’t they.” Wilde said, making Grizzop jump. He had reappeared with a towel over one arm, looking like the world’s most ridiculous bath house attendant. He attempted to dry Grizzop’s head, but he ducked out of the way like a reluctant dog and the two of them engaged for a few minutes in a ridiculous dance around the flagstone floor. Eventually Grizzop snatched the towel away from him and dried his own head, looking daggers at him the entire time.

“Quite drippy your personality, isn’t it.” He grumbled back at Oscar.

“I prefer sympathetic.” Oscar said. He looked down at Grizzop’s armour, and the sodden clothes underneath. “You better get that off before you rust.”

“It doesn’t rust.” Grizzop said shortly, but he nonetheless started undoing the buckles, shedding his bow, pack and quiver onto the floor. Wilde knelt down to help, large fingers clumsy on the buckles of his breastplate.

“Stop it, you’ll break something.” Grizzop batted his hands away.

“Contrary to your opinions, I’m not actually useless.” Wilde sounded more annoyed than Grizzop was expecting, and he let him undo the buckles with no more protests, watching his short, angry movements. The mood only lasted a minute or so however, because then Grizzop’s breastplate came free and the water he had known was trapped between it and his body gushed out onto the floor. Oscar looked at him, then at his slippers which were now as soaked as Grizzop, and raised a single eyebrow.

“Taking up aquaculture?” He asked.

“What have I told you about jokes?” Grizzop asked in response. He handed the towel back to Oscar, now sopping wet, and proceeded to removing his clothes and boots. He had been hoping, in a petty way, that this might make Wilde uncomfortable. But now he came to think of it that was a ridiculous notion. Instead Oscar was leaning back with his arms crossed, and watching him with academic interest.

“Could I have another towel please?” Grizzop asked, mainly to make him go away. Wilde uncrossed his arms and went back the way he had come. While he was gone Grizzop took the opportunity to wiggle out of his jerkin and trousers, and only then realised that Oscar had taken the first towel with him. He stood awkwardly for a moment, but was then suddenly enfolded from behind by a second towel, this one large enough to cover his entire body. In a perfectly reasonable response to being attacked from behind by terrycloth, turned in the arms of his captor and threw a punch.

“Well,” said Oscar as he sat back, clutching his cheekbone and prodding gently, “I suspect that will bruise.”

“Don’t sneak up behind people.” Said Grizzop, which was the closest he was willing to go to sorry. He wrapped himself more firmly in the towel and came over to where Oscar was sitting, leaning against the wall. He prodded at his cheekbone, using the bruise as an excuse to get a closer look at the scar. Oscar watched him, three inches away and not fooled for a second.

“When you’ve quite finished.” He said softly.

“What have you been doing to yourself?” Grizzop asked. Oscar shrugged, and reached out to wrap the towel more tightly around Grizzop’s shoulders.

“I could ask you the same question.”

“Oh y’know, losing my friends, watching the world start to unravel, the usual.” He sat down next to Oscar, and then winced. “This floor is cold.” Oscar focused his full attention back on him.

“No, you’re cold.” He said. His hand reached out and ghosted over Grizzop’s head, feeling his skin for the second time. 

“Goblin’s don’t run at the same heat as humans.”

“No, they run warmer.” Oscar replied matter of factly. “And you still feel cold to me, which cannot be a good sign.” He struggled to his feet and reached down to offer Grizzop a hand up. “Come on, let’s get you somewhere with a proper fire.” Grizzop tried to pull himself to his feet, then realised with a shock of pain that his muscles had cramped and stiffened in the short period he had been sitting down. Reluctantly he took Oscar’s hand, and tried to stand again, but his thigh muscles remained stubbornly uncooperative and he let out a little growl of frustration.

“Well, that’s a relief.” Oscar looked at their joined hands.

“What, precisely, is a relief?” Grizzop asked through gritted teeth.

“You’ve started shivering.” Oscar said. And without warning he knelt down, shoved his free arm under Grizzop’s knees and lifted him up. Grizzop’s ear twitched as it was crushed against a (very, comfortingly) warm chest.

“So you’ve been developing a death wish while I’ve been gone then.” Grizzop hissed. It made him feel better about the fact he wasn’t exactly struggling to get down. Oscar’s laugh in response was surprisingly bitter.

“Oh, more than you know.” He said and Grizzop glanced up to look him in the eye.”I’ll tell you about that later.”

“You better. I don’t like to see my hard work go to waste.” Oscar carried him through a side door and up two flights of rickety stairs to what were obviously his living quarters. Grizzop was shivering in earnest now, and if he tried to repress it pain sparked through his muscles like an angry elemental. Eventually they reached a small sitting room and Wilde unceremoniously deposited Grizzop on the rug in front of the fire.

“This is ridiculous. The rain wasn’t even that cold.” Grizzop grumbled, trying to get some semblance of control over his shaking limbs. 

“That’s not really important.” Oscar said from behind him, where he was fussing with something or other. 

“I know that.” Grizzop said tartly. “Which one of us is the Paladin again?” Oscar gave a short bark of laughter.

“Definitely not me.” He came over carrying two mugs. Whatever was in them was hot, and smelt of cinnamon and star anise. “Can you imagine?” He handed one of the mugs over, toed off his wet slippers, and ignored the sofa in favour of sitting next to Grizzop on the rug. He looked him over critically, then got up and brought over a thick wool blanket, exchanging it for Grizzop’s towel. For the sake of what was left of his dignity, Grizzop tried not to snuggle into it too obviously. They sat in silence for a few moments, and Grizzop sipped his drink and felt warmth return to his fingers and toes. “So, what brought you to my door?” Oscar asked at last.

“I was sent.” Grizzop said. He took another sip.

“By who?” Wilde sounded more wary than Grizzop had been expecting.

“Annoying woman. The one who was in charge of that Prague disaster.”

“Madame Curie?” There was a glint of amusement in his eye. “Leader of Harlequins? One of the greatest wizards of our age?”

“Yeah, that one.” Grizzop shrugged, unconcerned. “I was waiting around in Damascus for…” He trailed off momentarily and then resumed with grim determination. “Well, you know what I was waiting around in Damascus for. Then the harlequins contacted me.” Oscar looked up, amused.

“Not through…” He started, and Grizzop nodded, grimacing.

“Yes. Their local agents apparently. Well, you can imagine how long it took me to get the message, and then to get it unscrambled to the point that it actually made sense.” 

“What did she say?” Grizzop sighed.

“She said that since what Eldarion and I had tried had failed, it was likely there’s no way they’re getting out of Rome.” A few emotions passed across his face as he said this, anger, grief, and resignation chasing each other across his features. Oscar put a hand on his shoulder, surprisingly tender after his manhandling earlier. He took a deep breath but didn’t tell him to move it. “And then she said I could be useful, could be helpful with the fight against whatever is going on.”

“An offer no Paladin could refuse.” Oscar nodded. “So she sent you to me?”

“Said you could use a healer who could fight.” Grizzop looked at his hands. “There’s a sickness.” He said, and stopped.

“I know. It’s here too.” Wilde gestured around himself as if to encompass the entire island. “It was here before I arrived. I keep thinking I should have some sort of quarantine set up, but you’re my first visitor.”

“You should.” Said Grizzop firmly. “No taking chances on anyone. You should have quarantined me as soon as I walked in.”

“You were freezing to death!”

“I would have been fine.” 

“You would not.” Said Wilde firmly.

“But how do you know I’m not infected right now? I could be plotting your demise at any moment.”

“You are likely doing that anyway.” Oscar quipped, but then grew more serious. “I assume you would lose your…” He gestured up and down Grizzop as if trying to encompass his entire self in one word. “Paladiness, if you were infected, or a traitor. I don’t think Artemis would take it very well.”

“And what have you seen me do that proves I’m still a Paladin?”

“Well…” Oscar faltered. “You just seem like you.” He finished lamely.

“Not good enough.” Grizzop said shortly.

“Well, show me you’re still a Paladin then.” Oscar said, a little defensive. Grizzop looked up and met his eyes, holding his gaze steady as he reached for his face. His fingers brushed around where the bruise was forming from Oscar’s ill-fated towel ambush earlier. The healing was under his skin before he had even concentrated on calling it, dripping from his fingers like liquid moonlight invisible to everyone but him. He pushed just a little bit towards Oscar, and the bruise faded. Grizzop let go, breaking eye contact, and Wilde reached up to touch his own face gingerly, feeling around the contours of his cheekbone.

“Will that do?” Grizzop asked, sitting back.

“Yes, that will do.” Oscar agreed, softly. Grizzop sank back into his blanket nest, trying not too make it too obvious what he was doing. He was warm now, with real warmth, but with it came real tiredness that nipped at his bones. Judging by Oscar’s expression, he was not doing a good job at hiding his exhaustion.

“We’re setting up a quarantine. A proper one.” Grizzop said, to head off any sympathy of soft words that might have been headed his way. “Maybe some kind of cell. Anti-magic, obviously.” Oscar looked thoughtful.

“There is a cellar under the bar we can use. How long do you think? A week?” 

“I thought I would have to fight you harder on this.” Grizzop’s tone strongly suggested he had been looking forward to the argument, and Oscar couldn’t help but laugh.

“I’ve learnt some caution since the last time we met.” He gestured to his face ruefully.

“Your double didn’t have that.” Grizzop said, broaching his curiosity as gently as he could manage.

“No, well, the problem with illusions is they so often end up being what you want to see.”

“What happened?” Oscar brushed the question away with a wave of his hand. 

“Another time.” He said it lightly, but with an edge underneath the words that Grizzop recognised from the last time Wilde had tried to keep a troubling topic from him. Part of him wanted to pursue it, but he let it drop. For now. He was about to ask another question when an enormous yawn overtook him.

“You should sleep.” Oscar said. “There are plenty of beds.”

“I assumed so, this being an inn.” Oscar rolled his eyes.

“Pick one you like then.”

“I will.” Grizzop paused for a moment then added, much more carefully than he was used to, “and how do you sleep these days?” To his surprise this made Oscar laugh hard.

“Never become a spy.” He said at last, when he had calmed down. “If that is as close to subtle as you can manage.”

“I wouldn’t be a spy anyway.” Said Grizzop primly. “Artemis wouldn’t approve.” For some that reason that set Oscar off again. “And you never answered my question.”

“I’m sorry.” Oscar said, wiping his eyes. “It’s been a very odd week.” He settled himself back, making an effort to be serious. “Better, thank you. I still use the shackles from time to time.” He sighed. “Least exciting reason I’ve ever had handcuffs in my room.”

“Do you think they’ve given up?” Grizzop asked in surprise.

“I think maybe events have moved ahead.” Wilde replied after a moment. “And maybe stopping me is not as important to their plans as it once was.”

“I don’t know if that’s a good thing or a bad thing.”

“Feel free to interpret it as you will.” Oscar shrugged. “I don’t think we have long to wait to find out.”

“What a comforting thought.” Grizzop grumbled. Oscar flashed a grin at him, lopsided but somehow all the more dazzling for it.

“Well, it’s something to sleep on anyway.” He levered himself to his feet and once again held his hand out for Grizzop. Grizzop pointedly did not take it as he stood up, clutching the blanket around himself. “Come along. I’ll tuck you in.”

“You’ll do no such thing.” Grizzop grumbled, finding intimidation a harder sell when dressed only in blanket.

“Well, you can tuck me in if you like.” Oscar offered, with another flash of that smile and a flirtatious tilt of his head. “But I should warn you I bite.”

“So do I.” Grizzop replied and flashed Oscar a glimpse of his teeth in all their glory. “Hard.”

“Promises, promises.” Oscar muttered, undeterred. He led Grizzop out of the sitting room and into a long corridor, perusing bedrooms until he found one he thought was suitable. Grizzop, who would have happily collapsed on the first bed he saw, bore it all with bad grace.

“This will do.” He said at last, ushering Grizzop in ahead of him. He leaned on the door frame and watched Grizzop size up the room for escape routes and weaknesses. “Goodnight.” He said at last.

“Night.” Grizzop said over his shoulder, engrossed in the business of getting into bed.

“See you tomorrow.”

“Yep.” Grizzop was burrowing into the blankets. The bed was a double, meant for humans or larger races, and Grizzop was practically swimming in it. He seemed delighted. “Then we can get on with saving the world.”

“Oh good.” Oscar murmured as he shut the door gently behind him. A fine soft smile crossed his face. “I was wondering when we would get round to that.”


End file.
